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path. A frown flickered across his face at the old cook's rheumy-looking eyes.
"Ain't no easy way to say it," Rusty began. "One minute I had him safe . . ."
His shoulders lifted. "A stray shot . . ." Then he glanced in Lorna's
direction. "She's been sittin' with him like that all night."
There was a roar of pain inside him. Benteen pushed Rusty out of the way and
covered the ground to Lorna with long, reaching strides. When he stopped in
front of her kneeling form, his breathing was labored and deep. His eyes
burned from the vision of his lifeless son. He swayed, undermined by an
agonizing grief.
When he felt her gaze lift to him, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He
lowered himself into a crouch before her. His hands and arms felt so empty.
"You can cry, Benteen," Lorna murmured. "It's all right."
He pressed a hand across the front of his eyes and gritted his teeth together.
"I'm sorry." Guilt weighed on him-for unknowingly putting them in danger, for
not being with her.
"Did you get the cattle?" she asked.
"Yes." It was a brutally painful admission.
"You had to go after them, Benteen," she said in a calm voice. "There was
nothing you could have done for him if you had stayed. You had to go."
When he finally lowered his hand, there were tears in his eyes. He looked at
her for a long minute, then reached for their son. "I'll take him now, Lorna."
His voice was thick.
Reluctantly she relinquished him into Benteen's keeping and watched as he
carried him to the chuck wagon. She knew Benteen was saying his last good-bye
to Arthur.
It was a sad and solemn procession that set out for the headquarters with the
body of the small boy wrapped in a quilt and carefully laid in the back of the
chuck wagon.
CHAPTER 28
Lumber from the new house was used to make little Arthur's coffin. The
carpenters would have done it, but Zeke insisted it was his right. He'd made
the cradle Arthur slept in as a baby and nailed together the cot that had been
the boy's bed. He'd make Arthur's final resting place, too.
The grave was dug under the shade of the cottonwood trees by the river where
he had played so many hours. Galloping Triple C riders had located a traveling
preacher trying to save some sinners at Frank Fitzsimmons' place in Blue Moon.
They hadn't wasted time with explanations just dragged him out of the saloon
and shoved him onto his horse.
A cowboy could be put under the earth with a simple spoken introduction to his
Maker. But in their thinking, the little boy-Mrs. Calder's little boy-needed
some proper words said. It was a way of showing their deep respect and loyalty
for Benteen, too.
Word of the tragedy had spread beyond the boundaries of the Triple C. Besides
Mary and Ely and the cowboys, there were a couple of neighboring ranchers,
Frank Fitzsimmons, Lady Crawford, and Bull Giles among the throng of mourners
at the grave site.
It was a crisp, tart morning with a stiff breeze rustling the dried brown
leaves of the cottonwood trees. There was more than grief and the mourning of
a loved one in the air. The cold breath of revenge had brought its scent,
visible in the guns strapped to Benteen's hip and to the hips of his men.
Saddled horses with rifle scabbards filled stood waiting at the corral.
The minister took note of this when he finished his prayers, with a request
for forgiveness. "And may God have mercy on the souls of those who perpetrated
this deed. Amen."
First Benteen, then Lorna stepped forward to throw a handful of dirt into the
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grave. One by one, the cowboys began filing past. Lorna's eyes were bright
with tears, but she kept her shoulders squared. Benteen stood straight and
tall beside her. The minister came quietly over to offer his condolences.
"My deepest sympathies to both of you," he murmured.
"Thank you, Reverend Worth," Lorna replied with a faint nod of her head. "My
husband and I are extremely grateful that you are here."
"It is my work," he insisted.
"We would like to build you a church as ... as soon as all this is over . . ."
She faltered slightly. "This country is in need of churches ... and schools.
I'm sure Mr. Fitzsimmons will be happy to help you choose a site."
"You are most generous, Mrs. Calder," the reverend declared. "And you, Mr.
Calder."
Benteen acknowledged the remark with a short nod of his head. The vaquero
Ramon approached the grave and hesitated, glancing at Benteen and Lorna. After
a moment's indecision he approached them and bowed slightly with quiet dignity
and respect. Reaching inside his jacket, he took out the little wooden horse
he had carved for Arthur and presented it to Lorna.
"I found eet, senora," he said. "You would wish to keep eet, no?"
"Yes." She accepted the return of Arthur's toy, gripping it tightly for a
moment. "Gracias, Ramon."
The vaquero bowed again and moved away. Benteen's arm tightened around her
waist. She stood a little taller, strengthened by his silent support. Mary
hugged her and cried. Then Benteen's mother, Lady Crawford, came, a black veil
covering her face. She embraced Lorna in a gesture of sympathy and turned to
Benteen.
"You can't really mean to go after them." She sounded impatient, but the veil
concealed her expression. "What will you prove? It won't bring back your son,
Benteen."
"No." Even though he agreed, it didn't change his decision.
"You are being foolish," Elaine insisted. "Send your men after them, if you
must, but don't risk your own life. What if you are shot and killed? You
should be thinking of your wife and your other son-of this ranch and what will
happen to it if you die, instead of following this stupid code of a man's
honor and pride."
"You don't lead men by staying behind where it's safe," he said grimly. "And
you don't stand by while cattle are stolen and your son is killed and do
nothing about it."
"Let someone else do it." Her agitation was apparent. "It's a matter for the
law to handle."
"There isn't any law out here. You're looking at the only justice there is.
'Just-us."'
"Lorna . . ." She turned to appeal to her.
"Benteen's right," Lorna said with an unsteady voice. "If he doesn't stop
them, who will? Maybe someday that won't be true, but it is now."
With a quick turn, Lady Crawford moved stiffly away. Bull Giles paused in
front of Benteen. His eyes were red-rimmed with grief, but they burned, too,
with a dark anger. Bull worked his jaw for a silent minute, trying to find the
right words.
"If you'd see clear to loan me a horse, Benteen," he said, "I'd like to ride
with you."
"We're not going after Indians," Benteen said. "We're going after Big Ed
Sallie and his bunch."
"I can show you where to find them," Bull stated.
"Tell Barnie I said to saddle a horse for you." Benteen accepted the offer to
ride with them, hearing all the explanation he needed.
When Bull Giles left, they stood alone by the partially filled grave. Benteen
shifted, angling toward Lorna. She felt the vague movement of his hand on her
back and lifted her face. Her eyes clung to him with naked love and anguish.
"I won't say good-bye, not to you," she whispered, and borrowed the phrase
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